


Zucchini Bread

by Charon_the_Sabercat



Series: Friends and Food [1]
Category: Motorcity
Genre: Gen, Mentions of minor surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 12:19:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15291393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charon_the_Sabercat/pseuds/Charon_the_Sabercat
Summary: A lot like coaxing a starving mutt out from under the porch. A post-"Vendetta" take.





	Zucchini Bread

Rumors had been circulating about the cadet turned traitor, the kid that saved an entire apartment block from his own squad and then disappeared into the night. Somewhere on the south side of Motorcity, he had tried to stop a demolition. Some reports said he carried women and children out of the wreckage. Some said he lifted concrete walls with his bare hands trying to get to people underneath. Some said that if you looked out into the night, you could see him in his blues, standing proud, watching over the wastelands. Others claimed they had actually seen the young man darting from attention before disappearing into the shadows.

Jacob was old and unromantic, though. People didn't disappear into the night like spirits of justice, they found a place to squat and got lost in a big place like Motorcity. He had seen his fair share- maybe an unfair share- of defectors from up top, and none of them handled the loss of their former life with any kind of dignity. They didn't need hero's admiration, or kind whispers, or legends spun around him. It had been two days since that apartment block came down. He probably needed help. He closed the garage early that morning, told the kid to run a bath hot about noon and just leave it there to temper. His eyes were still good, even if the rest of him was going to shit. Maybe he could find him.

It took him an afternoon of trolling through wreckage, but he did. Even dirty and tattered, even in the dim lights that passed for night time, the KaneCo blue stood out in the earthy rubble of Motorcity.

This kid was was a particularly bad case. Jacob could see it even from the window, and it only got worse as his boots hit the ground and he got a better look at him. He had tucked himself into the closet of a half-collapsed house and curled up tight in the corner. He was filthy. Skin was sallow under all the dirty, and his eyes darted without focusing on any one thing. Jacob might have woken him up, for all he knew, but the bags under his eyes were a pretty good indicator that he hadn't been sleeping. The shivering, too, and the labored breathing. Jacob had seen it all before, over and over again.

How Motorcity treated its heroes, huh? Jacob sighed and took a step towards the rotten old house. The kid flinched and pushed back further, hands braced against the wall at his back.

“Easy now, son,” said Jacob. “I don't know who's been after you, but I'm here with something you need.” The kid's eyes zeroed right in on the canteen Jacob pulled from his vest. “Good clean water. Won't taste like it does up top, but if you're anything like the rest, then I bet you have one humdinger of a headache. Lemme guess: can't find a drinking fountain anywhere?”

The kid's breathing picked up a second. His teeth were shining out from his parted lips, too distressed and too distracted to keep his mouth closed.

“No KaneCo brand water tank refill stations?”

That got him a little nod.

“There's more where this came from.” Jacob set up his arm for an underhand throw. “Here, catch this.”

The kid's hands moved two seconds behind the rest of him, and the canteen whacked him square in the forehead and landed with a heavy sloshing noise in his lap. Jacob winced with guilt while the kid doubled over and kneaded at his forehead. “Sorry, son...”

He must have been forgiven fast, because the kid was already unscrewing the canteen and chugging down the water in great big military-efficient gulps. He didn't even get drips going down the side of his mouth. Jacob waited until he was done, and after the obligatory gasp for air from the young cadet, Jacob stepped closer again. About a body length from the little runaway, Jacob could see his features more clearly. Kane trained them up young now, and this kid could be anywhere from 16 to his 20s. It was hard to tell, tall as he was, although hunkered into a little closet like a beaten porch mutt wasn't making him look any older. Those eyes, too, they never left Jacob's face even once since he'd gotten out of his truck. Even though the glazed look in his eyes, the kid never stopped watching him, shivering and scared. Jacob held out a hand. “Come on. One ex-Deluxe to another-”

He didn't even get to finish. The kid gasped and immediately latched onto his arm with both hands, throwing himself out of the closet to get to Jacob. Jacob pulled him upright with a little work and picked up his canteen from the ground. His name tag flashed in the light: M. Chilton.

“Woah there, son!” Jacob laughed and lead him to Sasquatch. “Fast friends now, ain't we? I've got a boy back at the shop, about your age, you two should get along. What's your name? Or your throat too parched to talk?”

He knew he was onto something when the kid swallowed hard. “'m Mike.”

“All right, Mike, upsy-daisy. This will take a little wiggling.” Jacob made sure Mike's eyes were on Sasquatch so he could see him opening the door with the pull ring, where to put his feet to climb in, and that Jacob was holding his hand out to help him up. Mike's feet slipped once when his knees gave out on a hard push, but other than that, he climbed in like a champ. Jacob was pleasantly surprised. Underneath the dirt and the dehydration, he was built like an Olympian. No wonder he'd gotten the hero treatment in the rumor mill.

The drive back was a little bumpy, and Mike spent most of it with his head out the window. Checks in the mirror told Jacob that he was watching the city, thankfully, and not about to hurl. Once they were back in the more structured part of town and out of the wastelands, Mike's head started to dip. Falling asleep in the car like a boy. “How old are you, Mike?”

Mike had to think. “Sixteen.”

“For god's sake... Sixteen and a full cadet.”

“Commander...”

“Commander?!” They were already back at the garage, but Jacob's foot still hit the brakes too hard. “You were in charge of the demolition squad?! At your age?!”

One little slip up, and suddenly Mike was back to the cowering little kid in the corner. He folded into himself in his chair and eyed Jacob like he'd grow a second head that breathed fire.

Jacob sighed. He was really too old to be getting shocked by Abraham's level of depravity. This kid was worse than he thought, and he needed a delicate touch with this. Jacob popped open his door. “I'm sorry, Mike, I overreacted. You're home now. Come on down, we'll get you cleaned up and fed.”

Mike was slow to follow him. Didn't follow him at all, at first. Jacob waited for him on the concrete for a solid 57 seconds before Mike shuffled down through Sasquatch's struts and fell in step behind him.

Jacob unlocked the front door to a well-lit living room and Chuck on the couch, fiddling with his computer screens. He always had a little too much space in the garage, getting down into Motorcity early and setting up a nice big space for himself. Chuck was another ex-Deluxe case and good with all the new tech Kane had built up since he'd left the company. He was also where a good chunk of the household income came from; Chuck could work the 3D modeling programs that the fabricators ran on. While the two of them didn't make custom parts often, what they did make brought in more money all at once than the bar made in 4 months. Chuck needed a home, Jacob needed another voice around the house, and they both needed groceries. Good kid, Chuck. He probably had what Mike here needed. “Back.”

“You are back, or your back? Because I-”

Chuck caught a glimpse of Mike and screamed. He flailed backwards and kicked over the coffee table, sent every dirty spoon and set of chopsticks flying through the air while bowls hit the floor. Mike flinched and ducked behind Jacob to bolt for the door, only stopped by Jacob's hand on his shoulder.

“You let a cadet into the house?!”

“I rescued a defector from Deluxe, yes,” said Jacob.

“He knows where we live now!” wailed Chuck. “The Kane bots are gonna be on our heads any second! What were you thinking?!”

Jacob could feel an angry itch settling in his spine. “I was thinking 'this poor kid just out of Deluxe looks like he needs food, a friend, and a roof to sleep under' and figured I was the one to fix all those problems. Sound familiar?”

Words stuck in Chuck's throat, and after a few tries, he gave up. Chuck stood up from the couch, all defeated lines and cowered shoulders. “Okay. I'm sorry.”

“I know you're just looking out for us, Chuck, but if you can't trust me, then we're both in trouble.” Jacob hooked his hand hard into Mike's shoulder and pushed him forward. Chuck met them where they stood. Mike had locked up tight, watching Chuck through wild eyes. “This is Mike Chilton. He's the one that saved all the tenants from the south side apartment block.”

“This guy?” Chuck looked Mike up and down, and damn the kid and his hair, but Jacob had no idea what was running through his head. “You're sure it was him?”

“He's the only cadet in the whole south side.” Jacob patted Mike's back twice. “Hasn't been having a good few days. Get him in the bath tub and wash his clothes, would you? With another mouth to feed, I gotta start moving some smoothies.”

“Y-you're gonna leave me in here with him?!” Chuck recoiled. “What if he tries to-”

Jacob had to get out of this room before Chuck's twitchy nature got him biting back for serious. “Chuck, look the boy in the eyes and tell me he has the gumption to try anything right now.”

Jacob left the two alone, and neither moved. Chuck weighed his options. This Mike guy was a cadet, but Jacob brought him home, and if anything funny happened, there was plenty to work with. Gain some ground and get him with the slingshot, fend him off with a pipe wrench, exits on every wall and on both floors, with Jacob upstairs in the bar...

Mike Chilton wasn't moving. For all that Chuck's hands were wringing and squeezed up against his chest, Mike Chilton was doing near exactly the same thing on his side. Chuck was pretty sure they were breathing in sync, even if that sync was a step below hyperventilating. He didn't look much like a KaneCo cadet like this. He was more of a kid in a costume, and Chuck knew that feeling well. If Jacob was telling the truth, they were sharing a lot of feelings in common right now.

“So, uh...” Chuck cleared his throat. He extended a hand. “I'm Chuck.”

Mike didn't take his hand, but his eyes did dart down to look at it.

“I'm not carrying anything.” Chuck put both of his hands out, turned them over, patted up and down his arms and rolled up his sleeves. Mike's shoulders relaxed a little, so it seemed like that helped. “So, uh... Deluxe, huh? I used to live up there, too. Intern, in Tech Division.” Mike nodded, once. “Up in the north part. Did you, uh... live up there?” Mike shook his head, once. “Oh, okay. Yeah, if you had, we... probably maybe might've bumped pods once. Maybe. My parents are still up there. Did you... leave anyone behind?”

Mike's breath hitched, and his eyes fell right to the floor. His shoulders were starting to shake. Chuck's gut sank into his feet. “I'm sorry, dude, just- look, I'll show you where the bathroom is, okay?” Mike didn't look up, so Chuck put an arm around his shoulder and walked with him. “You're lucky, Jacob normally makes me go up the road to take an actual bath. He doesn't like running the boiler. But- I guess he figured, hey! You were worth it. That happened when I came down here, too. Jacob picked me up and made me take a bath, said I smelled... really... really bad.”

The smell wasn't escaping Chuck, either. Motorcity had done Mike no favors. Steam washed out of the bathroom door when he opened it, though, and the splash of wet heat against skin was enough to snap Mike out of his fugue.

Jacob had built this bathroom as an indulgence. Most of the cobbled-together space was taken up by the massive bowl of a bathtub and its swivel faucet. The toilet and shower were tucked in the back behind a half-wall for a little bit of privacy, and the hand-washing sink and toothbrush rack were but a tiny little afterthought by the door. This was going to be his king of the manor tub, he explained to Chuck once. A place to wash off the grime from fiddling with cars after a long day of making money. Now Jacob lived a leaner life out of respect for those who had even less, and the tub went dry for nearly two years. Today, though, Chuck had fired up the boiler and heated enough water to fill it nearly to the brim. It could overflow, it didn't matter, and it was kind of fun the one time Chuck had gotten to do it. Now if he ever felt the need for a deep soak, he went to the public bathhouse at an early hour of the morning when no one else was awake, for his privacy and comfort.

Mike made a little shocked noise beside him, and Chuck pulled out of his memories. “Y-yeah, that's all for you. It's like the pools from swim class, but- but uh... you'll be naked, and-”

He deserved the look Mike gave him for that. Properly scandalized, and a little horrified, and a little pale around the cheeks, it was almost enough to make Chuck laugh. “Yeah, I know! It was weird to me too but-”

Why was Jacob calling him now? Chuck gently asked Mike to get undressed while he put Jacob on speaker, no video. “What's up?”

“I almost forgot!” said Jacob's avatar. “Don't leave him alone in the bathtub. He could pass out.”

“What?!” Chuck yelped. “I'm not just gonna sit here and watch him bathe! He needs his privacy!”

“He's a cadet! They have communal showers. Besides, the kid's running on fumes and dehydrated. Who knows what'll happen with his blood pressure once he's in there. And don't let him stay in there for longer than 15 minutes!”

Behind him, water sloshed. Mike must have climbed in while he and Jacob were talking. Chuck jumped out of the way of the water pooling around his shoes and sat on the sink. “You had me run that much water for a 15 minute bath?!”

“What part of 'he could pass out' didn't you get, Chuck?! You spend any more of today sassin' me and I'll make you come up here and be a taste tester!”

“Don't you dare!” Chuck fussed back. “I am still recovering from your seaweed loaf! My burps still smell like it!”

“That's normal!”

“It's been a week!”

“That's how you know you've got good seaweed!”

“I don't believe you! Oh my god!” Chuck checked on Mike while Jacob went on about something. He was just swishing his arms back and forth in the water to watch it dribble over the side of the tub and flow down the floor drain. “Look, can I call you back? Mike's finally in the water.” Thus ended the call with a swipe of the screen and a smile. “All right! In the tub! Not so bad, is it?”

Mike was only really visible from the shoulders up, but he gave Chuck a weak smile and a shrug.

“See? Okay soap right-” Chuck reached into the medicine cabinet behind him and pulled out a jar with a half-on lid. He passed it to Mike. “Jacob made this out of plants, so if you're allergic to like... are you allergic to anything?” Mike shook his head. “Okay then get your hair and your face before the rest of you, and I'll...”

Chuck kicked at the clothes on the floor. “I'll do nothing, I guess, because I can't put your clothes on to wash while you're in the tub, because that's leaving you unattended and you might pass out.” Mike kept on washing his hair and neck while Chuck rattled on. “Not to mention, I'm pretty sure you won't fit in our clothes. You might fit in my underwear. Maybe one of my shirts. Maybe. It's a tall order. It's literally a tall order.” He paused while Mike ducked under the water to rinse his hair, overflowing the tub again and sloshing water all over his uniform. “Man, you just do not give a damn. … are you deaf?”

Mike's head snapped around to look at him.

“Okay, that's a no. Uuuh-” He knew maybe six words in sign language, but he tried a few of them. “Do you speak?”

“Oh!” Mike swallowed hard. His voice was rough and dry. He barely spoke over a whisper. “I do. Sorry. Been a weird day.”

“For both of us...” Chuck sighed. “How you feeling?”

Mike slumped himself over the side of the tub and rested his head on his arms. His eyes were starting to glaze over. “Dizzy.”

“Yeah okay let's get out of the tub.”

Chuck hated to admit it, but Jacob was probably closer to right with the passing out idea than he gave him credit for. Mike lasted about two steps out of the bath before his knees started wobbling. Chuck only just managed to get a towel around his waist before Mike darted for the cooler air in the hallway. They spent a long couple of minutes sitting on the floor, Mike panting and shaking and staring at the ceiling while Chuck fanned him with a magazine. Eventually the red flush started to leave him, and Mike's breath evened out. That had been close... no need to tell Jacob about that, right? No, everything was fine, thought Chuck. Mike was clean and alive.

“How you feeling?” asked Chuck. “You need some more water?”

Mike shook his head. “My head hurts...”

That brought back a memory, a terrible memory that Chuck had to violently stamp down in his head. Chuck brought his comm hand close to his gut and typed out a text message to Jacob, telling him about Mike's pain. “Where does it hurt?”

“Base of my neck...” Mike took a long breath that shuddered and ended in a cough. “Been hurting since the building but... really bad now.”

Jacob's message came back clear as day. “You know what has to be done.”

“Yeah, I'll bet they do...” Mike caught his words and watched him carefully. Chuck stood and pulled Mike to his feet. He let go of Mike, but Mike didn't let go of him. “You'll wanna be dressed for this. I'll get you a tablet. You ever play video games?”

Mike shook his head.

Chuck gave his fingers a small squeeze. “Come on, bro, talk to me.”

“N-no, I haven't,” said Mike. His voice never got any bigger, and it was rare for Chuck to feel like the biggest guy in the room. He didn't really like it, because it meant Mike was shrinking and flinching even more than Chuck usually did. Mike only let go of him to hold his towel up, and even that was only with one hand. The other one stayed clamped tight to Chuck's fingers. “They weren't allowed.”

“I'll teach you how. My room's this way.”

Mike followed him all the way to his room, and into his room, without ever letting go of his hand. Chuck had fully intended on just leaving him at the door, but nope, Cadet Chilton of KaneCo and savior of an entire apartment's worth of Motorcitizens did not want to be left alone. Chuck rooted through his clean clothes pile, ignoring the Burn of Shame along his back, until he found boxer briefs and a wife beater for Mike. He tossed it over his shoulder to Mike and did not look back at him getting dressed. He really could have lived without another human being ever seeing his room ever, his weird collection of 3D printers and machine parts and the hammock that he installed above the bed because his bed was too full of random shit to sleep on. He could go right to his old tablet computer in the mess, though, and it clicked right off the charger at 100% like the good little computer it was.

“Got it,” he announced just to fill the silence. Mike was disconcertingly quiet. “You okay back there?”

Mike asked, “Does Jacob not make you clean?”

“What?” Chuck faced a little more towards Mike for the sake of speaking, but kept his eyes on the other wall. “No? Why would he?”

“Kane always made me-”

“Kane??” Chuck had to turn to face him now. Thankfully Mike was dressed, but he couldn't have heard that right. “Abraham Kane of KaneCo, Kane? Kane himself was in charge of inspecting your room?”

Mike shrunk, but nodded. Chuck's clothes fit him tight, making him look just that little bit bigger by comparison. Muscles all the way down, no combat scars or even bruises, he would have been the picture of health if he wasn't shivering and constantly refocusing his eyes between the pangs of a migraine headache.

“Wow...” Mike must have been one of those super-elite cadets. He'd heard of those, but he always counted himself lucky he'd never met one. It made him wonder how many of them were scared kids his age. “... bet he didn't let you get away with anything.”

Mike laughed like it hurt. It was just a puff of breath that was halfway a cough, but it was a laugh. Chuck felt worse for what he needed to do now; he picked up his first aid kid and tossed it over his shoulder. “Okay, Mike, look in the hammock and pick yourself up some blankets that look good. I'm gonna fix your headaches.”

Thank whoever was upstairs, Mike wasn't suspicious of the request. He started getting that way when Chuck hurriedly cleaned out the living room floor of debris and the coffee table, and turned on every light in the room. Chuck laid the blankets out on top of each other for padding before running to the closet for a towel, Mike right at his heels. Every footstep had an echo in Mike, every motion had him just out of the corner of Chuck's vision, watching him, always. Chuck was going to throw up. He hadn't handled this well, personally, when Jacob...

He put his hands on Mike's shoulders and had him sit down. Mike automatically sat with his legs crossed, while Chuck got on his knees in front of him.

He didn't want to do this.

He laughed, instead. “Oh man, the bottoms of your feet...”

Mike turned the sole of one foot up towards him. It was pitch black now. Chuck grinned uneasily. “Just got those clean, too. I don't think I drained the tub, though, so you can wash them back off after... Um...”

“What's the matter?” Mike asked in a hush. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No! No.” He took his first aid kit into his hands and worked one of the straps between his fingers. “This is... hard to explain, 'cause... Okay! Mike. Could you face the other way, please?

When Chuck's eyes finally lifted to meet Mike's, he was already turning to face the wall. Who was this guy, and why was he so good? Chuck had nearly put up a fight when Jacob asked him the same thing years ago. He reached into his bag and passed a mirror over to Mike, putting it directly into his hand.

“I'm gonna hold up a mirror, too. Angle it until you can see the back of your head.”

It went too quickly for Chuck's taste. He would have liked to just put it off a little bit longer, maybe wait for Jacob to come back and do it instead. No luck, though, and Chuck pulled back Mike's hair. He could see them clearly, and he saw Mike's slight flinch when he finally noticed them too. Behind both of Mike's ears (Mike could only see one) were two little nubs. They were tiny, only the size of half a pea, and resting right under the skin on solid part of Mike's skull. Away from tendons or arteries, just below his hair line, nowhere near the important fleshy parts of his neck. Didn't make it any easier. Chuck started to type at his wrist comm. There was the KaneCo frequency, right where he expected it to be: coming from Mike. He hacked into it for access.

“Oh, those?” Mike sounded so disappointed. “Don't worry about them. The only thing they do is make me self-conscious. They've been there my whole life.”

Chuck keyed in the final code, every line of him tight and nervous. This would give him admin access for tracking mode. He had the command in place for Low Light Locator. He hit enter.

The bugs under Mike's skin started to beep and flash red.

Mike's scream broke across his face like a wave, and he dove out of Chuck's reach and over the couch, under the stairs, and into a corner. Chuck forced his body, with no small amount of effort, to un-flinch and go after Mike. He crouched in the stairwell, blocking the path should Mike try to run again. “Mike? Mike, I know, it's scary-”

“What else did he lie to me about?!” Mike's feet dug into the floor, pushing him back into the little bookshelf tucked under the stairs. His shivers had ramped up to full-on tremors, and he only kept his hands from flailing by tangling them into his hair and pulling hard. Even though his grip, Chuck could see the red LEDs pulsing from between his fingers, through his skin. His eyes were unfocused and wild, a panicked white with a pinpoint pupil that made Chuck want to start running too. “What did he do to me?! I don't remember _not_ having these- they've been in me since I was a kid, Chuck!”

“I know! I know! Look- hands-” Prying Mike's hands out of his hair was like trying to force a crocodile's mouth open. Mike struggled against him, and Chuck felt like one wrong move might get his neck snapped. “Mike- Mikey? Stop hurting yourself- look it wasn't just-” He had them. Chuck placed them on the back of his own neck, letting Mike's fingers fall right on his scars. “It wasn't just you!”

Real terror stabbed through Chuck's heart when those fingers sharply pressed into his neck. His fingers clamped down around Mike's wrists. Chuck yelped and cowered, and for a split second he thought Mike was going to kill him. He kept breathing, though, and hopefully Mike couldn't see his eyes screw shut through his bangs. It must have been a twitch, and a strong guy like Mike just had some seriously strong twitches. Rough callused fingertips rolled over those clean, thin lines of scar tissue where Jacob had removed his bugs. Chuck swallowed, hoping to steady his voice.

“S-see?” It hadn't worked, but he couldn't stop now. He just kept talking while Mike rolled his fingertips over the scars in small circles. “Wasn't j-just you. I had them too. Th-they don't do anything but hurt you if you stay out of Deluxe for too long. They're why you've got migraines. I'll take them out, and you'll be better.”

He dared to open his eyes again. Mike... he couldn't read Mike. That stare was a thousand yards through him, only 'at' him because Chuck happened to be sitting directly in front of him. He hadn't stopped shaking. His hands were colder than they should have been. They hadn't moved from his neck. Chuck reminded himself that Mike was operating on no food, not much water, maybe less sleep, and migraines right now. He could only fix one, and he had to before he fixed the others.

“I'm gonna get them out,” said Chuck. He hated that he had to do it- where was Jacob anyway- and he hated the idea of hurting Mike even worse, and his stomach was already trying to throttle his small intestine out of anger... but he had to. Mike didn't deserve a day like today. Nobody did. “And he won't hurt you anymore. That okay?”

Mike nodded.

“Words, Mikey.”

Mike's mouth moved, but all that came out was a breath.

Maybe he needed to rephrase the question. “Okay, how about this? How about I teach you how to play the _nice, distracting_ video game? With the bright flashy colors and soothing no-conflict gameplay? And you can just lie down and relax and be distracted and _nothing bad or uncomfortable will happen_. Okay?”

Mike nodded. “Yeah... yeah I can...”

Chuck had to pull Mike's hands off of him. “Wanna stand up with me, Mikey?”

“Okay.”

He had ice, rubbing alcohol, bandages, and an Exacto knife to work with. Mike laid belly-down on the blankets. Chuck gave him a couch cushion to prop his chest up and sat across his back. He could... do this. Jacob had done this, so there was no reason he couldn't, even with his hands shaking and his breath going a little faster than he was able to handle. He shivered and panicked and gulped down his breathes until he was a little outside his own body, and after that it was kind of easy to tell himself to tell his arms where to go, and how hard to press the blade in, and where to put the little beeping metal beans once they slipped out of Mike's skin. It felt like hours went by, but every time he checked the clock, it had only been a minute or so. Time fuzzed over and floated around his head in drifty curls.

It went so quickly. One and two, no more, no less. He even faintly recalled talking Mike through the coding he did to check for other implants. He found none. He wasn't sure Mike even understood half of it. By the time he had bandaids behind both of Mike's ears and they were both slumped over on the couch, exhausted, Jacob came back into the room. Chuck fell back into his body like diving into a cold pool: a lot of tingling skin and a sudden jolt of awareness.

“Jacob!” Chuck twitched hard and sat up straight. Mike did the same thing beside him, pulling his blanket tight around him. “You're back? How long have you been in here?”

“Long enough to find the dirty clothes you left sopping wet on the bathroom floor.” Jacob shrugged. “I put them on to wash. And cleaned up the blankets, and the blood-catching rags you left on the floor, and the dishes. You two've been staring at the ceiling for about 20 minutes now.”

“I.. we did?” Chuck slumped again, and the couch creaked where Mike copied the motion. “Oh. Sorry. Rough day.”

Mike nodded. “Real rough.”

“Well, un-rough yourselves. This old codger's had some mercy on you. Look what was about to go bad upstairs!”

Jacob had been holding something? He had, apparently, and Chuck hadn't noticed until Jacob put it down on the clean coffee table. A loaf of bread, fresh and warm, with a slightly sweet smell to it. It had been cut into thick slices. Jacob sat down on Mike's other side, glowing with pride and lightly dusted with flour. “Homemade zucchini bread! Welcome to Motorcity, Mike. Glad to have you.”

“Oh wow!” Chuck wiggled aside, letting the stunned Mike lean forward to get a better look at it. “Here- you deserve it. First bite. Finish the whole thing! You're probably starving.”

Mike took the first loaf with skittish fingers. Food in Detroit Deluxe was almost uniformly room temperature; it was a shock when Chuck first ate hot food all those years ago. He didn't dig right away, not like Chuck was aching to. His eyes met Chuck's and Jacob's first, like he needed permission before he ate. Silently encouraged, Mike took his first bite.

He chewed and chewed in silence.

Tears ran down his cheeks.

Chuck sighed. “Nice job, Jacob, you broke him.”

Jacob scowled at him. “You're only saying that so you can get the rest.”

Mouth still full of food, Mike started to giggle. He forced himself to swallow before he broke into a loud, honest, beautiful laugh through his tears. Jacob and Chuck found themselves wrapped in his arms and pulled into a hug.

Sitting off at the side of the boys, Jacob flexed his arm a little so he could get it around both of them. There he was, the way he was supposed to be: Mike Chilton, the teenage boy, having good food and surrounded on both sides by friends. Chuck had practically wrapped himself around Mike hugging him back. Going on two years, Jacob hadn't seen the kid leave the garage but once, and he needed more friends than a grumpy old gardener with a bad back and a knack for cars. They would be friends, too. He could tell for certain when Mike immediately grabbed the second slice and insisted Chuck eat it, and Jacob the third. They polished off that zucchini bread in silence together, letting Mike eat the lion's share. Chuck turned on the TV once they were down to the final pieces, and they watched archive footage of Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy until the broadcast cut off, and Jacob realized with shock that it was 3 in the morning. Well, no use opening the bar tomorrow. Might as well sleep in.

Nobody felt like going to their rooms. Jacob planted himself in an easy chair while Chuck unfolded the sofa bed for Mike. They got pillows and blankets together, Mike never more than arm's reach away from Chuck. Didn't even leave his side when Chuck ducked back to his room and changed into his sleeping pants. They went through the garage turning off every single light before bed.

“Tomorrow, me and Jacob will probably to go the trading station and try to find you some clothes that fit.” Chuck saved the living room light for last. Mike was wiggling under the blankets to get comfortable. “I promise not to get you anything blue.”

“Wait,” Mike whispered, mindful of Jacob sleeping in the chair. “Don't I get to pick?”

Chuck rolled into the covers. “Well, I mean you'll be here at the garage-”

Mike clamped his hands onto his shoulder.

“-or I can stay here, with you.”

All of Mike relaxed into the beaten mattress, and Chuck felt like he very narrowly dodged a bullet. He rolled over to give Mike a one-armed hug. He was going to say something small, a little “I've got your back” or “Glad to have you” or “Proud of how well you handled a minor surgery”; Mike instead shifted into the crook of his body and curled an arm around him like a vice. His head rested heavy on Chuck's shoulder. Chuck just laughed. “Woah, you uh- you're uh-” He didn't dare finish the thought in his mind, because all of the options seemed vaguely insulting. “Really touchy-feely”? “Hungry for hugs”? “Didn't get a lot of attention in Deluxe, did you”? That last one seemed to ring a little close to his own heart, actually.

He settled on “You know what, Mike? This is fine. Hug me as much as you want. I'm glad it helps.” It seemed to be the right thing. Mike shifted closer, held him tighter. Chuck threaded a hand into Mike's hair and scratched at his scalp. “Never need a reason, okay?”

“Thank you.”

“Hey, you're fine,” said Chuck. “I wasn't gonna leave those things in your head.”

“No, for-” Mike wiggled just enough to tilt his head back so they could talk. “This... I'll... I'll find a way to pay you back.”

“Dude, this isn't about us wanting something out of you.” Chuck squeezed his shoulder to reassure him. “Me and Jacob just wanted to help. So don't worry about paying us back, or doing anything for us, or whatever, okay? You're just-”

Chuck stopped, because Mike was tearing up again. He pulled their foreheads together. “This is a Kane thing, isn't it?”

“How did-”

“Look, that's... that's part of why I left,” explained Chuck. “Detroit Deluxe has a really specific idea of how life's supposed to be. Kane wants it that way, the people around you do... my own parents did, and when I didn't fit how they wanted me to be, they made me feel...”

“Worthless?” Mike finished. His eyes were down on Chuck's neck. Chuck didn't blame him. Eye contact seemed a little much at the moment. “Doubting what you'd been told your entire life? Like you turned your back on everyone you cared about?”

“Defective, yeah.” Chuck sighed. This word was hard. His mouth didn't want to say it. “Unlovable.”

Mike made a noise under him. Chuck knew it well: suppressing a sob.

“But you're not.” Chuck pulled Mike back onto his shoulder and patted his back. It had been a long time for him. Whatever tears he had for what happened to them, he cried them out on Jacob's arm a long time ago. Mike's wounds were fresh, though, and his cheek was wet, and he just... he told Mike what he wished he'd been told before everything went wrong. “We don't expect anything from you. You don't have to try and be tough or do things you know are wrong to fit in, or... or you know, anything. At all. No matter what you are or what you do...” Was it too much? … no. “We love you. _No matter what._ ”

That tremor was his voice cracking. His eyes burned, and when he blinked, they poured over with tears he didn't think he had left. His heart was going to crack in half if Mike didn't crush him to death first. Mike cried quiet and dignified, while Chuck had to clench his jaw to keep himself from bawling and waking up Jacob. That's what he needed to wake up to, sure: his two teenage wards, tangled together on a sofa bed, crying into each other's necks.

Chuck fell asleep to that odd thought, and when asked about it later, he'd blame it on the late night. Mike stayed up just a little longer, checking Chuck's pulse to make sure he was okay before rolling back to pillow his head on Chuck's arm. He'd been alone for two days straight. No other people and nothing to listen to but the throbbing in his head and his thoughts. He defied Kane, the same Kane who taught him everything he knew, told him what a great man he would become, and that he believed in him, trusted him, expected so much of him... and between all the lines, Mike believed he'd loved him like a son.

He didn't remember his parents at all. He never got the full story of what happened to them, either. Kane talked about them like they'd died, while his superiors hinted that they'd abandoned him. He'd lived his life on Kane's love in their absence, devoting every bit of himself to the singular goal of making him worth Mr. Kane's attention. If he was the fastest, the strongest, the smartest, Kane would love him. If he was the most loyal, Kane would love him. If he was... obedient...

That was what hurt. That love he'd earned, gone in an instant because he refused to hurt innocent people. That he was only worth love if he was willing to hurt others, because that's what Kane wanted. The strongest, the fastest, the most loyal, the most unthinking attack dog that loved every scrap thrown at him. It made his blood boil between the throws of his migraines, lanced up his legs with every forced step. He'd felt that hatred growing out of the love that had been their once, both for Kane and for himself, for ever accepting it. He belonged in that pile of trash where Kane left him.

Except he didn't. Not anymore.

He'd be the strongest, the fastest, the smartest again. He would be everything Kane wanted him to be, and for himself. For this place, that kept him safe from those hands that were suddenly a burning mark on his skin wherever Kane had touched him. For the people in it, the weak at his mercy and the strong who protected them.

For Jacob. Mike checked over his shoulder. He was hanging halfway off of an arm rest. Mike got up and reclined the chair, lining Jacob up so his back would be supported and he wouldn't wake up in pain. He put one of the extra blankets over him. Jacob smiled.

For Chuck. Mike shuffled back under the covers, back to chest with Chuck, and pulled one long arm and a blanket over his shoulders. Chuck made a little tired noise before snuggling closer, and Mike fell asleep in a fuzzy, warm bliss.

For Motorcity.

 


End file.
